


a little unsteady

by Meridas



Series: you are my sunshine [4]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Mollymauk Tealeaf, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Other, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:06:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: A simple mission goes awry. Molly comes too close for comfort to the weakness of having a soulmate.Luckily, he isn't alone.





	a little unsteady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steelneena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steelneena/gifts).



> This is a gift for my wonderful, amazing beta! Thank you so much for all the work you do, Eileen. Sunshine would not be here without you.

For the most part, Molly is an easygoing person. He’s happy not to be in charge of their little group of assholes—he’s happy to just go along with the best scheme on the table, do a little good, make a little gold, and get away before the consequences catch up. That’s what he’s good at. It’s worked out well enough for him so far.

So the Mighty Nein don’t bother to chart a course so much as they rattle and tumble headlong into whatever looks like the next interesting thing, and for the most part, they’re good. They still run around trying their best to avoid the war, make an underground sort of name for themselves, make some money and some friends and occasionally some enemies. For the most part, they’ve kept their heads above water.

Sometimes, though, he questions everything and everyone that’s led him to these moments of complete fucking insanity with this pack of assholes, because who else finds themselves going from “investigate some local disturbances” to _portal from hell_.

“What the fuck do we do about this?” Molly shouts. He scythes his swords across an imp’s body, lands two hits that send it disintegrating into sulfurous ash. There are still too many devils and hellish creatures harrying them from all sides, splitting up their focus and dividing their impact as a team. They’d backed Caleb, Nott, and Jester up near the top of a rocky little hill to give them some cover, but in the latest wave of fire-spitting, spike-lobbing devils, Molly has lost sight of Fjord and Yasha around the other side of the portal. He growls in frustration.

Beau runs up beside him, her face grim. “We've gotta close it,” she says, “and it looks like we gotta go through _her_.”

She levels her staff at a tall, winged form outlined in infernal light from the portal. Molly twirls his swords and gives her a little nod. “After you?”

“Chicken,” she quips, and then she takes off and Molly dashes after her.

The devil smiles at them as they close the distance, and unsheathes a longsword with ease. Something tingles the back of Molly's head: a little warning bell that goes off at the creature's wings and unearthly beauty and uncanny grace. He grits his teeth, hoping some helpful tidbit will just pop into his mind before this thing slices him and Beau to ribbons. Then he whirls his radiant sword out toward her, slashing at the creature.

“Come on!” he taunts her, flourishing with his second blade before he slices at the… the _thing, it’s on the tip of his tongue_ —

In a flash of steel, the devil parries his sword away, nearly throwing it from his grip. The hilt vibrates unpleasantly in Molly’s hand, and he bares his teeth at her as the wings flare and her sword gleams in the light and suddenly Molly _knows_ this creature somewhere in his bones.

_Erinyes._

“Here we go,” he mutters, and throws himself toward her—then _through_ her. The spirit world shivers against his skin, icy cold and whispery like silk, and Molly hurtles through her dark plate-clad form and _out_ behind her. Before she can turn to follow him, he swipes once more with his golden sword, and at the same time he hears Beau coming in with a battle cry, her staff raised high.

Her staff clangs against the devil’s armor with bone-breaking force just as Molly’s sword bends and slips through a gap in the plate and sinks into her flesh. Attention split, the Erinyes howls in rage and swings back at Molly. Her sword flashes like his do, _one-two-three_ lightning-quick slashes that cut and _burn_ him. Molly draws back with a hiss, gritting his teeth against the boiling pain of poison in his veins. The Erinyes grins down at him, bright hellfire in her eyes and his blood on her sword.

Molly bares his teeth and grins back. “ _Made you look_ ,” he taunts in crackling Infernal, and a split second later Beau unleashes a full, furious round of attacks against the devil’s unprotected back.

Beau slams into the Erinyes with the force of a hurricane, her fists and knees and elbows flying faster than Molly can track. The devil howls as Beau pays back every strike that hit Molly and then some, slamming into every chink in her armor. With a shout, Beau strikes at the flared arch of the Erinyes’s wings, and Molly watches a shudder wrack through the devil’s form.

“ _Get her!_ ” Beau shouts, and Molly immediately slashes at her stunned face with his sword. He misses her eye but cuts deep across her cheek, and her skin steams at the contact of his radiant blade. Then Beau’s last kick hits something that _cracks_ , and the Erinyes _howls_.

Out of the corner of his eye, Molly sees the portal waver. Its arcane edges dim, like a cloud has passed in front of the sun, and for a second he thinks the whole thing might be dispelled. But the magic washes past, and the portal blazes anew.

The Erinyes shakes herself free of Beau’s stunning effect, and her attention snaps away from them. Her eyes narrow, and then she shouts an Infernal rally cry that instantly raises howls and yips around them. Then her wings whoosh out, almost knocking Molly off his feet, and she launches herself into the air.

Beau yells in frustration, but the Erinyes parries her staff away. Molly’s sword carves one last gash in her calf, but it does little to slow her down and in the next instant she’s gone, speeding away behind him.

“Fuck,” Beau spits, but before she can charge off after the Erinyes, a bolt of fire streaks out and hits her in the shoulder. As one, she and Molly whirl back towards the portal, readying themselves to take on two barbed devils crawling out.

Molly’s heartbeat rushes in his ears, a fast and familiar rhythm to follow with his swords. He and Beau come out swinging together—they make a good team, now, they’ve learned how to push against each other, when to rush and when to wait, and within moments the two devils are crumbling into ash at their feet.

Beau swipes sulfurous ash off her forehead, panting. “Did you see where she went?”

Molly scans the nearby sky, the battlefield around them. He glimpses Jester and Fjord back-to-back, finishing off a spiny-looking creature, but no Erinyes. “No. Do you think she—”

Suddenly something slams into Molly’s chest, knocking the breath out of him. He staggers, whirls around with his swords up, but there’s no one near him anymore, no mage in sight who might be able to cause what felt like a knife to his heart. _What the—_

From the top of the hill, Nott screams, and all of a sudden Molly's blood goes cold.

He looks up, meets Beau's gaze and sees the same horror dawning on her face. “ _Go!_ ” she shouts, and Molly doesn't need another word before he turns on a heel and sprints toward where he'd last seen his soulmate.

The hill is steeper than he’d thought, somewhat slick with the earlier rain and now with garish splashes of blood. He almost falls flat on his face trying to sprint up the steep slope. His heart shocks again and he slips, slams into the ground and the world wavers before his eyes. “Caleb,” he gasps, and he spits out grass and scrambles up and up until he reaches the crest.

Bodies are strewn around the hilltop—imps and minor devils that had swarmed their defensive position around the stones. Molly sees Yasha as he runs past, her magical greatsword and indomitable fury crashing down on the battered and beaten Erinyes. He can see the trail of carnage they’d left, blood and trampled grass where she must have drawn the devil away from—

“Caleb,” he calls, stumbling to the top, “ _Caleb—!”_

A wide streak of blood against a rocky outcrop leads straight down to the crumpled wizard. Nott swings her crossbow right at him, her wild eyes softening only very slightly when she sees it’s him. Over the fading clash of the fight Molly can hear Caleb’s wheezing breaths, and his heart stutters in his chest.

“Do you have a potion?” Nott demands. “I had one, I _tried_ , but nothing happened! It didn’t work!”

“ _What?_ ” Molly drops to his knees, slides his hands carefully, _so carefully_ under Caleb’s shoulders. “What do you mean it—”

Something rings in his head, some memory that slides into place. He _knows_ the nature of the Erinyes and, _finally_ , most importantly, the kind of creatures they serve, and he puts his hand instinctively over the sluggishly bleeding wound at his own shoulder, remembers the agonizing sting of poison there.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he whispers, and starts to hold out his hand with the snake tattoo on it—

Pain _bursts_ in his chest, and instantly his vision goes white and he _screams_ and he can't stop it. The world spins and rocks and he doubles over, curling over Caleb and pressing his forehead to his torso. There’s pressure on his chest and it _hurts_ like something is standing on him, pressing down as he's trying to breathe normally, but his entire body is still shaking and he can’t—he _can't_ —

A shuddering breath makes it past his raw throat. He swallows hard, tasting blood, his vision swimming with black spots. _Please_ , he prays, and with a shaking hand he reaches out for his power and _twists_.

Blood bursts from the snake's eye and runs down his wrist, but the sharp sting is _worth it_ because he sees the poison dew up on Caleb's skin, dark and viscous but _out_ of his bloodstream. Caleb shivers like he's stuck in a snowbank, and Molly's chest burns like he's swallowed acid but his heart is still going, he's still alive and upright and so Caleb is going to be _fine_.

Molly swallows back bile and fear as Nott's hand enters his vision and upends a healing potion into Caleb's mouth. She must have pilfered it from his pocket. Good on her. Caleb sputters immediately, and Molly's breath catches in his lungs like fire but it's _alright_. Caleb's eyes slide open and it's going to be _fine_. Molly's dizziness is nothing to write home about, the shaking in his hands and the icy shock in his muscles and when he reaches for something to say his voice is just _empty_ —

Caleb is fine. Molly's heart is going a million miles an hour but Caleb catches his bleeding hand and presses it to his chest, where he can feel their rabbit-quick heartbeat together. Molly lowers his forehead onto their clasped hands, and shakes silently apart.

“Is it dead?” he hears, echoey and distant as if he's underwater. “Is—did the portal—”

“It's gone.” _Yasha_. His Yasha, his rock. She sounds much closer now, and the weight of her hand landing on his shoulder reels Molly closer back to earth. He takes a deep breath that shudders painfully in his chest, and feels the familiar motion of her large hand, rubbing soothingly across his back.

Another hand comes to rest at the back of his neck, cool and calloused. Caleb makes no move to get up or dislodge Molly from his chest, and he’s grateful for that. His muscles feel like water even though he can’t seem to relax a single one— he feels pulled taut, like he’s swallowed ice water and stood in a blizzard, every muscle locked up with cold. He _knows_ he isn’t cold. He _knows_ Caleb is fine. But it takes his heart minutes to slow down from its terrified pace, minutes where the Mighty Nein gather up their loot and tend to their wounds, their familiar voices buzzing around him. He’s not sure what they say. He can only focus on a few things right now, and he can’t tear his attention away from their heartbeat under his hand, Caleb’s grip on his neck, Yasha’s calm presence at his back.

Heartbeat. Caleb. Yasha. _He’s okay._ Heartbeat, Caleb, Yasha.

“We’re alright,” Caleb’s voice says through his haze, and finally Molly is able to draw in a full breath. He feels a little tap on his shoulder, and Jester’s healing magic washes through him, warm and fizzy, and it gives him enough strength to push himself back upright.

“We’re good,” he manages, and his voice comes out rough and shaking. He clears his throat, swallows hard. “Sorry.”

A hand squeezes his shoulder—smaller than Yasha’s but tight and strong. Beau. “C’mon,” she mutters, and she reaches past him to pull Caleb upright, too.

He stumbles to his feet, and Yasha’s hands steady him again. “Molly, are you sure you’re not hurt?” she asks quietly. “I heard you scream; I was very worried.”

Molly leans against her unashamedly. “I’m okay,” he promises. “I just—I don’t know what…”

He meets Beau’s eyes as she’s helping Caleb to his feet, and the grim relief in her expression hits him like a slap across the face. Beau has seen this before. She’s seen the other side of it—she was there when Molly died, and Caleb felt this but it never _stopped_ , it just got _worse_ for him. Caleb has never once talked about it, and Molly has never, ever pressed. But looking at Beau now, Molly can see just how close he came to experiencing it first-hand.

He reaches out for Caleb on instinct. His soulmate laces their fingers together, and squeezes reassuringly. Molly holds tight, for all he’s worth.

He’s loath to let go of him, and barely releases Caleb’s hand long enough for him to cast a _detect magic_ spell. Once Caleb’s eyes take on the faint arcane glow of the spell, Molly slides his hand back into Caleb’s, his fingers finding his pulse and resting there. Caleb glances over at him, his features softening from studious focus to silent understanding. Without a word, he brings their entwined hands up and kisses Molly’s fingers softly. Molly takes a deep breath, drinking in all the evidence that Caleb is _alive_ and they’re alright, and then gives him a little nod.

He lets Caleb do his magic thing. Doesn’t mean he has to let go of him in the meantime, though.

Finally, after ten minutes of hobbling around the now-deserted battlefield, the arcane light fades from Caleb’s eyes and he sighs. “There is nothing left,” he says, exhaustion creeping into his voice. He gives Beau a satisfied nod, and squeezes Molly's hand. “I'd say we are in the clear, now.”

The trek back to town is a long one. At one point Fjord suggests that they might just make camp, but even as he speaks the clouds overhead roll ominously with thunder, and they limp on.

Molly can't bring himself to fill the time with chatter like he normally does. He still— something in his chest still _hurts_ , aches in a way he can't describe and definitely doesn't like. He needs to talk to Beau, to Yasha. More than anything he just wants to curl up with Caleb and know that his family is safe.

They split up back in town, all of them tired but needing to get a few essentials out of the way. Yasha gives Molly a concerned look, but he kisses her cheek and she accompanies Fjord to go give the news of their success go their employer. Jester pats Caleb on the shoulder and gives him her last healing spell, before she runs off after them.

Nott gives Caleb a very concerned pat-down, but even Molly can see the impatient way her feet shuffle and her eyes stray toward shiny things. Caleb promises her than he’ll be alright, and behind his back Molly gives her a nod. She takes that as good enough, and they quickly lose sight of Nott in the crowd.

Beau sticks with them as they finally make it back to the inn. She goes and orders drinks like a saint while Molly steers Caleb upstairs and straight to the washroom.

“Just give me a minute, love,” he says, and he knows it’s silly, that he’s being ridiculous not wanting to let go of Caleb for even that long. But by the way Caleb squeezes his fingers, he’s not alone in his foolishness. “I need to talk to Beau.” He musters up a little smile. “And you need to clean up.”

Caleb stops him as he starts to turn away, and pulls him into a kiss. It’s rough at the edges, verging on desperate, and Molly can still taste iron on his tongue. He kisses back, his hands clenching in Caleb’s lapels so tight his knuckles creak. He’s so afraid to press too hard or pull too close, in case he hurts Caleb, but he needs to be closer. He wants to press Caleb up against the wall and worm his way close until he can press right up against him and feel their heartbeat pounding back against him in Caleb’s chest and maybe he can feel _whole—_

He breaks the kiss, his breath catching, and leans his forehead against Caleb’s. “I need to talk to Beau,” he repeats, and he can feel the quaver in his voice. “And then I—I’ll be _right back_. I’ll—”

“Okay,” Caleb whispers back, and Molly closes his eyes tight before he can start to cry. Caleb strokes his hair tenderly, tucks it back behind his ear. Then, thankfully, he pulls away before Molly can shake apart.

“Go on,” Caleb says, and they both pretend his voice isn’t shaking. Just to get through five minutes. “Go and talk with Beau, I’ll need a few minutes. Take your time.”

Molly doesn’t quite scoff, but they both know he won’t. He pulls away, takes himself back downstairs, every step feeling like he’s off-balance.

Beau doesn’t look up at him when he sits heavily next to her—instead she just slides a drink towards him while she tips back her own. She’s already close to finished with her first, but Molly can’t find it in himself to try to match her.

Instead he sighs deeply, fighting the urge to just put his head down on the slightly sticky bartop. “As much as I want to pretend that fight never happened,” he begins, “we actually need to talk.”

Beau sighs. “Yeah, I’d say so,” she agrees. She finally looks over at him, her mouth a thin grim line. “You knew what that thing was, didn’t you?”

He lets out a long breath, and lifts his glass to his lips. “Yes,” he says, and takes a long drink.

Beau lets him. The days when she would get impatient or accuse him of being dramatic are behind them—she knows when he’s being dramatic to be a dick, these days, and when he’s truly rattled and needs a moment. “Is something gonna come after us for what we did?” she asks instead. “Demons can be vindictive little shits, but aside from that… anything specific that set you off?”

Molly sets down his drink and runs his hands back along his horns, pushing his hair away from his face. “I don’t know for sure,” he says, “I didn’t exactly have time to study it. But I’m… worried that we’re gonna have to worry about this. That thing we fought, it’s not the kind of thing that just gets loose and causes havoc because it _likes_ it, that sort of thing follows _orders_.”

“So you’re wondering what was holding its leash?” Beau guesses.

Molly nods. “I don’t know what to do about it,” he says. “I just— _bah._ ” He growls. The gaps in his memory taunt him, dangling a name, a _reason_ , just out of his grasp. What he does know makes him incredibly uneasy.

Beau eyes him for another moment, then slaps him on the shoulder. “Hey,” she says, “we beat it today. We’ll figure it out. We’ll do some research if we have to, get Caleb on that nerd shit he loves. Right now, we’re good, we’re safe, and your boy could use your company a lot more than me.” She pushes him, and Molly lets her shove him out of his chair and lets himself smile. “Go on, get out of my way, your face is throwing off my drinking game.”

Molly bats her waving arm aside just long enough to duck in and smack a kiss to her head. “You’re the worst!” he calls back at her, heading for the stairs. He hears a few shouted obscenities follow him, and he waves over his shoulder.

She’s such a dick. He does love her.

He taps lightly on the door to his and Caleb’s room. A quiet “ _Ja_ ,” and he slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft thud.

For a moment, he just looks at Caleb, sitting up in bed, patched up and cleaned up, whole and soft-looking, and a sharp ache grips his chest at the thought of how very close he was to losing this. Then Caleb sets his book aside and holds out his arms.

“ _Komm her, schatz_ ,” he murmurs, and Molly drops down beside him and wraps his arms around Caleb and clings.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, and when he feels Caleb’s arms wrap tightly around him he lets go of the last of his composure and a sob breaks loose from his chest.

“Molly,” he hears Caleb whisper, and he wants to respond, but every thought that trips over his tongue is caught, buffeted by the harsh, shallow gasps that close up his throat.

“You almost—” Molly presses his forehead into Caleb’s sternum, hard, probably aching but he needs to feel grounded and _real_ somehow. “ _Fuck_ , Caleb, you’ve gone down before and it’s been _awful_ but this was—I thought—fuck, I thought I was going to die, I thought you were _dead_ and my heart wouldn’t take it and—”

“Molly, _liebling_ , breathe with me,” Caleb says, quiet and firm. It’s all Molly can do to close his eyes tight and push against the _empty_ clawing at his insides, to force himself to hold his breath as Caleb does, then release it slowly. But he manages, he exhales and hiccups and holds it out, and when he gets halfway through a breath in and starts to hyperventilate again Caleb shushes him gently, and starts over with him.

Slowly, slowly, his head stops spinning. His breathing calms to the point he can take a full inhale, only a little stuttering. Caleb’s arms stay warm and firm around him. Finally, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, and opens his eyes. Caleb’s shirt is wet and cold with saltwater under his cheek, but he can also feel their heartbeat there. He doesn’t want to leave.

Carefully, gently, Caleb coaxes him back up long enough to shrug aside his coat, boots, all the pointy and bloodstained bits of his ensemble. Molly lets them drop unceremoniously to the floor. He sits still long enough for Caleb to remove the chains and dangling charms from his horns, letting just his tail curl tight around his waist. Finally, Caleb presses a kiss to his temple and lifts up the blankets, and Molly wastes no time scooting under them and wrapping himself back around his soulmate.

Molly wiggles into place, pushing himself as close as he can get up against Caleb’s chest. He tangles their legs together and tucks his head under Caleb’s chin. Caleb lets him wiggle around without complaint, and when Molly settles down he just pulls the blankets up over the both of them. His arm drapes over Molly’s shoulders and rests there, heavy and reassuring.

He sighs deeply, hoping that all the stress in his body will just seep out of him. Eyes closed, he focuses on the soft, steady thump of their heartbeat. Caleb’s hand rubs slowly up and down his spine, and Molly tries to match his breathing to the soothing motions. His lungs keep catching, infrequent little hiccups that he can’t seem to stop.

He feels Caleb’s lips press into his hair. “We are okay,” he says quietly, and Molly is pressed so close that he feels the low vibration of Caleb’s voice through his own ribs. “Hey. This was a shitty day, but we are alright, and things will be better in the morning.”

Molly curls his hand over Caleb’s chest, balling up a handful of shirt until his knuckles are white. “I'm sorry,” he mutters. “It’s—you’re the one who almost… you almost died today, Caleb, I should be the one—you shouldn’t have to comfort _me_ after all that…”

Caleb's hand pauses. Then it weaves into his hair, pulling Molly closer until his face is tucked into the safe haven of Caleb's neck. “No,” he says, very quietly. “I know very well what you are going through, Molly. It's alright. Take all the time you need.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he whispers, and he almost hopes for the sound to be lost in Caleb’s shirt. By the way Caleb’s breath hitches, it isn’t. Molly squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “I know it doesn’t make sense,” he mutters, “I know that—if I’d been there it would have been different anyway, never happened, whatever. I still—I’m sorry you had to go through this and you were _alone_ , and it was so much worse, Caleb, I can hardly—I can’t imagine—”

“Mollymauk,” Caleb stops him. Molly realizes that he’s shaking, or Caleb is, or they both are. Caleb’s hand rubs steadily along his back, but his voice is far from even when he speaks. “Words cannot express what I would have given to have you back with me, when I was feeling this. But you are here now. That is all that I could ask for, it is more than I thought possible, at times.” He squeezes, his wiry arms tightening briefly to the point that Molly makes a little “ _eep_ ” noise, before he relaxes, and Molly finds himself relaxing along with his soulmate. He huffs out a tiny chuckle, stirring Molly’s hair.

“My point is,” he murmurs, “I am very, very glad that you did not have to go through that. I love you. I am sorry that I frightened you today, and I am—I was very afraid, for a moment, when I—when I thought, for a moment, that…”

Molly squeezes him back, gently, cautious of his recent wounds. “I know,” he says softly. “You’re right, though. We’re both here. We turned out okay today. So, in the end, it’s not a bad day.”

Caleb lets out a gusty sigh, and a little laugh. “ _Ja_. Alright. Not a bad day, then.”

He wiggles a bit, adjusting just enough so that he can nudge Molly’s face up and capture his lips. As Molly melts into the kiss, he lets the last of his worry and tension drain away, leaving him exhausted but content. Caleb’s hand settles against his jaw, warm and welcome as he guides the kiss. Molly lets his eyes close again, happy to follow the soft, familiar press of Caleb’s lips against his, the private dance they’ve both learned so well.

When they come apart with a quiet sigh, Molly hums softly and snuggles close again rather than open his eyes. He feels Caleb’s lips press once more against his forehead, and he returns a kiss right where he is at Caleb’s collarbone. He feels drained, tired and heavy and wrung out—but he’s also warm and safe, with Caleb’s arms heavy around his shoulders and the soft, steady rhythm of their heartbeat soothing him to sleep.

He has his soulmate with him, alive and well enough. His little family is alright, today. There’s nothing left for him to worry about, at least until tomorrow.

And tomorrow can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> *drops plot hook and buries it in feels*
> 
> Title comes from "Unsteady" by X Ambassadors.
> 
> An Erinyes is a real creature from the Monster Manual, which some of you may recognize from campaign 1! This one had a few enhanced details due to [redacted].
> 
> It is always a joy to get back into the sunshine verse, and as always I'd love to hear what you thought! <3


End file.
